


And so the psychic saw

by soberqueerinthewild



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Canon Divergent, I just love Maria ok, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Psychic Abilities, the fic that dragged me back into fic writing after 14 years away, what even is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 08:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20355601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soberqueerinthewild/pseuds/soberqueerinthewild
Summary: Maria reads Michael after his talk with Alex in 1x09. Canon divergent from that point.Previous titled: Michael and Maria Talk After 1x09Originally posted to tumblr on 3/23/19.





	And so the psychic saw

**Author's Note:**

> The last of my fics to be migrated over from tumblr! I promise to stop spamming you all now! Also the first fic I wrote for this fandom, and the first fic I wrote at all since I was a teenager. Then, you know, I kind of spiraled. 
> 
> Original title was very uncreative, so I retitled it using lyrics from Atheist-And the Psychic Saw. Honestly, I just googled songs with the word psychic in them.

Most of the time Maria didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about how her---intuitiveness, psychic powers---whatever you want to call it- worked. It has just always been a part of her. When she was younger, it was more like a flash of feelings she’d get sometimes when she touched someone and their emotions were high. It helped her be a good friend, always knowing when Rosa, Liz, or Alex needed an ear. She’d developed a little more control over the years, but even now, she usually didn’t see specifics of the future or past, like her mom often did, but sometimes if she focused intentionally, or the circumstances were just right, details came into focus. It made her vaguely uncomfortable when that happened by accident, like she was prying somewhere she didn’t belong. It was fine for the psychic readings she did to make a little extra cash. She figured those people were asking for it, but even then it wasn’t like a switch she could flip on or off. More often than not someone would ask for a reading, she’d examine their palm carefully, and feel…nothing. She was perceptive enough to make up something they wanted to hear and send them on their way. Those times when something that felt deep and true did flash into her mind, she was always a little startled. She generally tried to share a positive spin on whatever she saw, hoping that perhaps hope and optimism could help bring forth a better future.

In developing some control, she’d largely learned to block it out with friends. Thank god, since it would be awkward to have a psychic flash when she gave someone a hug or, god forbid, during sex. But keeping up that barrier did require maintaining a certain amount of control. Maybe that’s why, tonight, after waking up in the desert with a hangover and very little sleep, a four hour drive home, and then working at the bar until close, that barrier, that’s usually second nature, slips.

When Guerin had first walked into the bar a few minutes ago as she was stacking chairs after closing, she thought he might be sniffing around for round two. Fleetingly, she considered it might not be so bad. Stress from worrying about her mom and having her hopes in the faith healer dashed, had her feeling emotionally raw. Sometimes sex was a way for her to take back control and Guerin would do for that. But one look at his face and the thought vanished. Last night in the desert she’d sensed some sadness, hurt, and frustration, and thought he might’ve been looking to regain some control too. But that was nothing compared to what she saw in his face today when he walked in. He looked like every defense he’d ever put up had been stripped away. 

It was so unusual for him that when he’d handed her back her necklace, she couldn’t stop herself from gripping his left hand tightly before he had a chance to pull back. She flashed quickly to yesterday, the vulnerability on his face when the faith healer fraud talked about re-opening the wound in his mind and the more familiar sarcastic grimace when he’d held it up that morning when she’d threatened his appendages. Despite calling her out on her own naïveté for hoping this faith healer was the answer to curing her mother, she knew he’d allowed himself to hope briefly too, that his hand could finally be healed after all these years. She felt a touch of fondness and empathy at the thought, and without thinking about it she heard herself ask, 

“You know I don’t think I ever really asked what happened here?”

She isn’t sure what circumstances combined to cause the strongest psychic flashes she’s ever experienced to course through her. Maybe it’s the sudden sharp yearning to know the truth of his injury, combined with his stripped down defenses, but now, instead of hearing whatever deflection she is sure he’s already started mumbling at her, she feels terror, and pain as she gets a flash of a hammer slamming down onto Michael’s hand. With a start, she recognizes the twisted face of Jesse Manes as the hammer crashes down again. Her heart breaks with the next flash, the tearful and terrified face of a teenage Alex, his mouth contorted in a silent scream. 

In the present, Michael tries to pull away, seemingly cognizant now that something odd is going on, but she holds tight, searching for understanding, unsure of the meaning of what she is seeing. She usually isn’t able to direct these psychic flashes, but today, determination takes over and she pushes past a barrier in her mind, or is it Michael’s mind?, she can’t be sure, and finally understanding washes over her as she is overwhelmed with flashes that seem to spin quickly through the years. 

A 17-year old Michael and Alex gripping each other tightly at the UFO museum, and then giggling in that tool shed, as Michael pulls at Alex’s shirt, an open vulnerability she never thought she’d see on Michael’s face as he smiles at Alex. Now, suddenly, it’s years later, the feelings more intense, tinged with longing and sadness, she sees them at the reunion, in Michael’s Airstream, at the drive-in, scene after scene of them, either crashing together in desperation, or walking away from each other in anger. In the last flash, before Michael finally wrenches his hand away, she hears Michael plead with Alex to “really make it feel over.” She recognizes the clothes and surroundings as this bar, two days ago. Just before, she realizes, Michael’s flirting escalated from the banter that comes as easily as breathing to him, to something more targeted and blatant.

Back in the present now, she and Michael just stare at each other. She wants to be angry, but she can’t summon the energy, especially not when his eyes are red-rimmed and more exhausted than even her own. All that comes out is a sad sigh, 

“Alex, Guerin?” 

He looks down at the floor for a minute then back at her. 

“Damn, DeLuca. I always hoped that psychic thing was just to scam gullible folks out of a few bucks.” 

He tries for the sarcastic smirk he seems to wear 90% of the time, but he can’t cover his guilt. She doesn’t dignify his bluster with a response, continuing to stare at him searchingly. 

“You know _I_ love Alex, and it seems like you do too, so what the hell were you doing with me? If I’d known, I would’ve never…” She trails off, unsure of where to go from there. 

She thought she was tired before, but now, she’s overwhelmed by her own emotions mixed with Michael’s, and the bone deep exhaustion sets in. She staggers, and Michael instinctively reaches out to help her into a chair. She doesn’t think he’s going to respond at first, thinks maybe they will sit there in silence for hours like they sometimes do, but he finally breaks, and there’s bitterness, but sadness too, as he quietly admits, 

“Well, he never wanted anyone to know, so there’s that…” 

She looks up in surprise. If she’d thought about it, which she hadn’t, ever- the thought of Michael and Alex had literally never crossed her mind- she would have predicted Michael being the one to conceal their relationship, to hold onto his perceived heterosexuality, not Alex, who is out to everyone these days. But as she scans her memories quickly, she realizes that though Alex doesn’t seem to have a problem talking about being gay, she’s never once seen him on a date, or anything resembling one. She sees again the hopeful look (and that ever present smirk) on Michael’s face in the drive-in flash she saw, followed by devastation as he watched Alex turn his back. 

She tries to keep the pity off her face as she looks up at Michael again, but can tell by his reaction she hasn’t quite managed it. His chin juts up and his tone is defiant as he bites out, 

“He’s always looking for reasons to walk away, and I’m real good at giving them, I guess.” 

Her anger does flare up now, 

“Thanks a lot, Guerin. I don’t appreciate being unwittingly used to piss off my friends.” 

She tries to stand, but Michael pulls her back down, his features softer now. 

“No, it wasn’t like that. Not intentionally, anyways. I swear.” 

He stretches out his hand again to her, a silent offer to examine his intentions. She’s not totally sure if she can do that, but desperately wants to try, so she grabs his hand, his right one this time, and with a concerted effort opens her mind to his, focusing on their interactions yesterday. She’s a little startled to feel some true affection for her shine through, along with a desperate desire to feel anything but heartbreak over Alex and fear about Isobel and whatever is going on with her. She doesn’t feel any malice or intent to hurt her, or even Alex, and that’s good enough for her. She breaks the connection and sighs,

“Ok, Guerin, but never again, I mean it.” 

And she does. She’d said it this morning, but in the back of her mind, she had already accepted that they’d likely fall back into bed together at some point. Now she knows she could never touch him again without feeling the rush of complicated, swirling emotions he feels for Alex, seemingly with every breath. 

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry,” he mumbles back at her. 

He really does seem sorry, and still so sad and raw. She thinks then of talking with Alex at this very bar, telling him that sometimes, home can be a person. She can’t think of anyone who needs and deserves a safe home more than Michael and Alex. She resists the urge to grab hold of Michael’s hand again, to try to see what the future has in store for them. She really does hate spoilers, but she holds onto hope that they can find home in each other some day.


End file.
